Bella's Art
by SXYPigeon
Summary: The pain could only be hidden for so long.  Ron and Hermione with a splash of Harry at Shell Cottage.


_A/N: This is based on the movie version of Malfoy Manor (no Dean and Hermione has a new tattoo). Enjoy!_

Cool air seeped in from Shell Cottage's drafty kitchen window as a young woman stared out at the darkened beach. Beneath her trembling hands, the metal sink felt cold but solid.

_Just breathe. Inhale and exhale._

Though the small home was far cozier than the borrowed tent, the brunette could not shake the chill from her battered body or wounded soul.

_It's just a word - it means nothing._

Two days almost to the hour since the night at the stately manor had passed and with it, any lingering sense of safety or security.

_You're better than this. Pull yourself together._

Ron Weasley woke a bit more dazed and confused than usual, though the feeling did not last long. His confusion slide into a nauseating fear before transforming into relief and finally to a dull aching shame. Yes, he was back a Shell Cottage - but no, he wasn't there alone. He was back with his friends, though after their most recent mishap, he wasn't sure how much longer that would last before someone . . .

Harry, Ron noticed as he sat up from his makeshift bed of blankets on the floor, was sleeping soundly on the sofa. A small smile tugged on the ginger's lips, _Oh well, at least I get it tomorrow night. _

He watched what was left of the dying ambers of the fire when he heard _it _again _- _the sound that woke him. Kicking off his blankets, Ron followed the soft but distinct sound of ragged sobs into the dark kitchen.

There was no feeling of surprise, no notable amount of astonishment felt at the scene before him. His pillar of strength, of resilience and endurance, was standing broken and undone at the kitchen sink. He had figured it would only be a matter of time before she would be unable to continue lying to everyone - and herself for that matter - that she was fine and Ron was a little relieved it had happened sooner rather than later.

He stood silently and watched the young woman. Part of him was unable to move forward, part of him wanted to give her the privacy she wanted - this was a side of herself she wanted to hide from him and Harry. That part of Ron saw her shoulders straining as her arms nearly entirely supported her limp body as she clung to the rim of the sink.

But the other part, the part that propelled him forward toward her, saw the whiteness of her knuckles in the moonlight and heard the pain and anger in her sobs. Even in her darkest hour, Hermione Granger refused to give into her pain and let herself begin to heal.

Looking back, Ron would admit he should have known better than to sneak up on her, especially given her state of mind. He could have avoided her forceful shield charm knocking him onto his back and the look of despair in her teary eyes after realizing what she'd done to him. She didn't wait for him to get up before she turned back to the sink with a choked sob.

With a sore elbow and hip, Ron gingerly resumed his approach more certain of his task than before. She tried to whisper shaky apologies as he pulled her away from the drafty window. She tried to push him away as her tears choked her voice, but when her body began to shake from her suppressed anguish, Hermione fell helplessly into his embrace.

Words of comfort didn't come to Ron, that was more of Hermione's thing. Instead he held her more closely than he'd ever dared to before and tried to physically give her the comfort he couldn't through words. Her tense shoulders and clenched fists relaxed and her anger and pain gave way to grief, grief for the last bit of innocence she and the boys had lost that terrifying night.

Her hair had gotten really long, Ron noticed as he ran his fingers through it gently. It was soft, maybe even softer than at Dumbledore's funeral, he wasn't sure. It smelled the same though - for some reason, that comforted Ron greatly.

Hermione's knees buckled as Ron was smoothing her unruly curls from her face. He tried not think about how awkward he felt pulling her body so tightly against his to keep her from falling. He felt her cold hands grip his shirt as she righted herself with a bit less grace than he was used to seeing from her.

She looked dreadfully tired, but Ron didn't think she was ready to be on her own just yet. With a gentle tug, he pulled her to the kitchen floor and leaned against the cabinets behind him. The floor was hard and he was sure he was only sitting on half of the rug in front of the sink, but with Hermione pulled nearly into his lap, he found that he didn't mind too much.

Her sobbing had quieted to silent tears and soft sniffles as Ron ran his fingers gently over her hands and wrists. She was on the verge of sleep when she jolted awake and pulled her arms away from his touch. He gave her a questioning look and gently tugged on her wrist, but she refused to budge.

She was hiding something from him. Though Ron's arm around her shoulders kept her from actually moving away from him, it was clear that she wanted to. He felt a prickle of shame again knowing that he still needed to earn back her trust.

Ron gave up on her wrist and moved his hand to her knee. There was an odd intimacy about rubbing circles over her kneecap that he found he enjoyed - and that she seemed to enjoy too judging by the way she began to relax again.

Little by little, Ron chipped away at her wall she'd built to keep him and everyone else out. He worked slowly, moving from her knee to her ankle, back up to her elbow and shoulder.

He appreciated the thinness of her pajama trousers and shirt, how he could feel the modest tone of her petite form. It took more than a bit of effort not to enjoy the moment more than he knew was appropriate.

He was lightly tracing the new scar on her neck when he felt her stiffen, though instead of moving away, she relaxed her coiled arms. He watched as Hermione slowly pulled back one of her sleeves.

Red - blinding red light . . . high pitched whistling and bitter bile overwhelmed his senses. Ron's palms itched as his ears burned painfully. Never had he in his eighteen years of life had he felt such rage as he did at that moment, staring at Hermione's scarred skin.

She felt his anger, he knew, as she quickly tried and failed to pull her arm back and out of his grip. He took a shaking breath and eased some of the tension from his body. With a thin smile, he tried to speak, but no words came. Hermione avoided his eyes and settled back against his shoulder without a word.

Ron stared down at the etching and wondered what had been harder for her to endure, that or the pain of the wretched curse. He was reminded of getting hurt as a child and having his mum implement healing kisses to ease the pain. It was worth a try he figured.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her open her sad eyes as he carefully lifted her forearm to his lips. Even in the quiet room, her gasp was almost inaudible.

He moved slowly and gently, only applying the slightest bit of pressure to her wound, but the effect was immediate. He felt her body tensed again as she subtly leaned more heavily into him and struggled to keep her breaths even.

He didn't stop at the end of the scar. As he moved closer to her wrist, he let his lips move more slowly and purposely. He snuck a glance at her and saw, for the first time that night, all traces of sadness and pain leave her face.

Each breath she took, each slight movement, Ron felt against the side of his body. He felt the skin beneath his lips slowly warm with each kiss - felt her shiver as his lips lingered on her thin wrist. This was for her benefit not his, he tried to remind himself with little success.

Her trembling fingers began to explore the patchy stubble of his cheek as Ron began to work his way back up her arm. He paused and watched her try to speak. Her lips were parted but her eyes were closing - Ron smiled as Hermione finally fell into a peaceful sleep.

The world was dark and blurry for Harry as he sat up rubbing his scar; it didn't hurt but he did feel something. He glanced over at Ron to see if he was awake, but only saw his makeshift bed of blankets and the cold-looking fireplace. Harry groped for his spectacles and headed for the kitchen hoping his friend could help him figure out what the tingling in his scar meant.

Though no lights were on, the moonlight poured generously from the uncovered windows. Harry sighed sadly unable to find Ron when he felt something latch onto his ankle. The wizard let out a startled yelp and jumped away only to hear the sound of poorly concealed sniggers. Ron was sitting on the floor grinning with Hermione curled up next to him.

Harry shot him a half-hearted glare before shaking his head. Ron's face grew somber as he patted the floor next to him.

The wood floor was cold and a bit uncomfortable. Harry opened his mouth to ask Ron what was going on when the wizard in question shook his head. Harry watched as Hermione's arm was carefully presented to him.

The pale blue of her skin in the moonlight matched Harry's feeling of helplessness. Wasn't the curse bad enough? Why couldn't they have gotten to her sooner? Why did she hide this from them?

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by Ron's hand on his shoulder. She shouldn't be sleeping on the floor of the drafty kitchen, none of them should be. He jerked his head back to the sitting room and pointed at the sleeping brunette.

Ron understood and nodded. With Harry's help, Ron shifted Hermione into his arms and carried her to the sofa.

There was a tenderness in the way Ron handled their injured friend that Harry had never seen in the ginger before - he almost wished Hermione was awake enough to acknowledge it. Harry turned away and re-lit the hearth with a small smile.

Ron had unfolded the extra blanket Fleur had left them next to the sofa and stretched out on it. Harry was briefly reminded of their first night at Grimmauld Place and took his spot next to the fire.

There was nothing Harry could do to change the past, but he vowed to prevent it from repeating. No one else was going to be hurt - or die - to protect him. He owed that and more to his friends beside him and hoped against logic that he would keep that promise.

_A/N: I couldn't think of any other way to end it; I apologize for the slight cheesiness. I saw "Part 1" and just couldn't get this out of my head – I just couldn't think of how to put into words for several months. For anyone who is interested, I am still working on "Seatbelt" I'm just not sure when it'll be ready for posting. _

_Like it? Hate it? Should I stick to my day job? Feel free to let me know _:D


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